


Maple Leaves and Flannel

by hannahindie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Reader Insert, Sam Winchester - Freeform, Supernatural - Freeform, fall - Freeform, flannel, maple leaves, sam x reader - Freeform, specifically sam's flannel, spn fanfic, supernatural fanfiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-17 04:50:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16967997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahindie/pseuds/hannahindie
Summary: The reader runs into Sam during her favorite time of year. Will she get to see him again, or will she always just have the memory of the handsome man standing amongst the falling leaves?





	Maple Leaves and Flannel

Fall has always been my favorite time of year. Summer had its moments, but when the stifling heat finally started melting into cool breezes, when I could enjoy the sun’s warmth on my face without immediate fear of being burnt to a crisp, I was in my happy place. If anyone were to ask me why fall was my favorite, besides the cooler temperatures and the lack of sun poisoning, it would be hard to pinpoint an exact thing.

It could be the brilliant colors the leaves inevitably changed to, a magnificent splash of reds and oranges and yellows all mixing together to make it look like the landscape was on fire. The slow appearance of Halloween decorations that would go up bit by bit; a zombie here, purple and green lights there, fake spiderweb stretching across every available surface. The extraordinary amount of pumpkins that would just appear with no warning on porch steps, balanced precariously on hay bales that also would magically appear, a majority of which had simple faces that had been painstakingly carved into them by excited children who cared less about the carving and more about cleaning out the slimy guts inside.

So, had you asked me what my favorite thing about fall was, I would have told you it was too hard to choose and wandered off with my pumpkin spice latte to find some crunchy leaves to jump in.

Well, that’s what I _would_ have said. But then I saw _him_.

Right in the middle of town is a large maple tree. Large is really an understatement. This maple tree is one of the oldest I’ve ever seen, and it’s _huge_. It’s right on the edge of the sidewalk, and the roots have pushed up the concrete slabs like they’re made out of foam. Every year, I expect one of the massive branches to break off and land on top of the old, Victorian-style house that sits empty next to it, but every year it proves me wrong. It also sits directly on the path I take from my apartment to the library, and every time I walk past, regardless of what I might be doing at the time, I glance up at the huge spanning limbs and falling leaves. Most days, there’s nothing remarkable about it. It’s beautiful, yes, and it’s one of my favorite things about my town…but generally speaking, it’s the same scene every single day.

Except one day when there was an addition to the normal scenery.

I had just crossed the street and was making my way down the sidewalk when I glanced up out of habit and stopped dead in my tracks. Standing just under the maple was a tall man, his head bent as he looked down at his phone. His shaggy, chestnut hair hung down and obscured most of his face, and I held my breath as I waited for him to look up. He was wearing a burnt orange coat and a lighter orange flannel; he was like the perfect autumn day in a ruggedly handsome, broad shouldered package. He must have realized someone was staring at him because he looked up and locked eyes with me, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Hi,” he said softly, his voice deep and smooth.

I finally released the breath I’d been holding, my eyes wide. “H-hello.”

He took a couple of steps towards me and pocketed his phone as he did, “Sorry to bother you, but do you live around here?” I nodded but remained quiet. “Do you know much about this house?”

“Oh, yea, it’s one of my favorite places in town. Are you…are you interested in buying it?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded, “Yea, actually. Me and my brother grew up in a house like this, and I just happened to be driving through when I saw it.”

“So do you live close by?” Surely I would have remembered seeing him around.

He shook his head, “No, I’m here on business. I’ve been kind of looking for a place to start over, and since I was already here, I thought I’d look around.” He held his hand out, “My name is Sam, by the way. Sam Winchester.” I took his hand, and I was unsurprised when his totally engulfed mine.

“Y/F/N Y/L/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Same.” He smiled again, and just as he opened his mouth to say something else, a muffled ring interrupted him. He quickly reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. After a quick glance, he looked at me apologetically, “I’m sorry, that’s my brother. I gotta go meet him…family business stuff to work on. Maybe I’ll see you around?”

I smiled at him, “Yea, that would be nice. See you later.”

He gave a small wave and started walking down the sidewalk in the opposite direction that I was going. Luckily, that wasn’t the last time I saw Sam Winchester. 

* * *

The second time I saw Sam Winchester I was at the library, coffee in hand as I flipped through pages upon pages of town history. I had just started at the local newspaper, and my first assignment was to put together a large series leading up to the town’s centennial celebration. Most people would have wondered what they had done to deserve such a fate, but I loved stuff like that. There was something about getting lost in old newspapers and books, scattered photographs that lay forgotten in people’s attics, only remembered when you ask them if they have anything that would help you. I could sit all day at the library, curled up in one of the overstuffed chairs with a giant book. Most of my days consisted of that, actually.

I had been reading about _The Great Flood of 1928_ when I heard someone clear their throat. I looked up to see Sam looking at me, one corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hi, Sam,” I said as I shifted into a more upright position. “How are you?”

He shrugged, “Pretty good. I think we’ll be here for a few more days.” He nodded towards my stack of books, “What are you researching?”

I glanced down at the book in my hand, “Currently, a catastrophic flood that destroyed most of the town in 1928. In general, just getting some information for a series I’m writing for the paper. The centennial is coming up. Although I have to say, there’s less interesting and happy things than there are devastating natural disasters, murder, and general bad luck.” I closed my book and sat it on the table. “Why are you here?”

“Well, I needed to do some research of my own. The librarian told me you might have a book I need. It’s actually a collection of property deeds and stuff.”

I raised an eyebrow, “That sounds…”

“Boring,” Sam laughed. “It is. Which is why I’m here and not my brother.” He sat the books he’d already claimed down, “Mind if I join you?”

I shook my head as I handed him the book he was looking for, “Not at all. I can’t promise that I’ll be exciting company, though,”

He laughed, “At least we can be boring together.”

And so we sat, the next three hours consumed with what was supposed to be serious research but had quickly turned into us laughing about some of the more ridiculous things that had happened in town.

Sam sat back with a laugh, and I couldn’t help but stare at the deep dimples that formed when he allowed himself to truly smile. “Wow, it’s been awhile since I laughed that much. That was nice.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and his smile quickly disappeared, “But it looks like it’s time for me to head out.” He stood and shouldered his coat on, “Hopefully I’ll get to see you before we leave.”

I smiled, “I would enjoy that. See you around.” Sam smiled and strode quickly out of the library. I looked down to find that he’d left the book he’d asked for open, and I pulled it around to look at the page he’d marked.

The deed was for the old abandoned house with the giant maple in the yard. 

* * *

The last time I saw Sam Winchester is a little blurry. It’s kind of a long story, and honestly I’m not even sure that I have all the details. I remember seeing the deed for the old house. Curiosity got the better of me and I did the one thing that I’m surprised I hadn’t done before but realize now should never have; I googled the address of the Victorian house with the town’s oldest maple tree.

I vaguely recall reading what had to have been one of the more disturbing stories of our town that I had soundly decided not to include in our centennial write up. But even after I sat down to read something else, determined to not focus on the vicious quadruple murder/suicide that had occurred in the house, my mind kept returning to it.

Which had led me to my next question; why was Sam so interested in that house? And what family business was he doing that he needed the deed information? Nothing was adding up, and I was beginning to wonder what that handsome stranger was up to.

I remember leaving the library, bag in tow and determined to figure out what was going on. I had stopped at the end of the sidewalk before taking a big breath and striding up the cracked concrete like I owned the place.

And that’s when things get a little fuzzy. All I can really remember is that I saw something that shouldn’t have been real. That moment of pause, the shock of seeing a man that was long dead standing directly in front of me, nearly cost me my life. What I do remember is Sam appearing out of nowhere, quickly followed by a shorter man with bright eyes that I guessed was his brother, and a loud shotgun blast.

Then I was outside, my back against the maple tree and a large, rough hand cradled against my face.

“Y/N…hey, are you alright?” Any other time, opening my eyes to that handsome face would have been welcome. As it was, I could barely remember where I was, much less who was in front of me.

“I…yea…I think so…what happened?”

Sam breathed a sigh of relief, “It’s a long story.”

I shifted my weight and groaned as my bruised ribs protested at the movement, “What exactly do you and your brother do, anyway?”

He chuckled, “That’s also a long story.” He helped me stand up, and I grimaced again. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I nodded, “Aside from the fact that I just saw something impossible, and said impossible thing tried to kill me…I’m pretty sure I’m good. Ask me tomorrow.” He smiled sadly and my chest ached, “You won’t be here, will you?”

He shook his head, “No, we uh…we have some other things to take care of.” I stared at him for a moment and tried to memorize the way his hair fell in his face, the little mole on his chin, how his eyes seemed to change color. There were too many details, and I knew it would be impossible to do him justice in my spotty memory. So instead, I put my arms around his waist and pressed my ear to his chest and listened to the strong, steady beat of his heart.

“It was nice to meet you, Sam Winchester.”

Sam didn’t say anything, but he wrapped his arms around me and held me a little tighter. 

* * *

It’s been a year since I last saw Sam Winchester. A year since I saw him standing under that maple tree, its bright red and orange leaves falling around him as he looked at his phone, unaware of the dumbstruck girl staring at him.

It’s been a year since I let curiosity win out over common sense and I discovered that there was far more to this world than I could have ever imagined, and that the gentle giant that I had laughed with over coffee was responsible for keeping it all in check.

Sam and Dean had driven me home and the ride there was mostly silent. Sam sat in the back with me, his long legs tucked in as well as he could, and I had curled tightly into his side. My ribs complained the entire ride, but I ignored them; I wasn’t passing up what could be my last chance to be this close to Sam.

Sam walked me to my door and pulled me into one last hug, and it took everything I had not to beg him to at least stay the night. He’d started to walk away, but at the last minute, turned back and pulled me into him, his soft lips working against mine almost desperately before he pulled back, gave me a tight lipped smile, and walked to the car. The next morning I went to stick my hand in my jacket pocket and found a piece of a napkin containing small, cramped handwriting. There was a number, and under that a single word - ‘Sam’.

We had texted quite a bit for awhile; what he and Dean were up to, plans to get coffee when they finally made it back into town to visit, the most recent book we’d read. I knew that with their lifestyle, it would probably be awhile before I got to see Sam again, but I held on to hope. Then, finally, the messages stopped.

I’d like to think that he’s okay, that he’s saving people from the monsters that linger in the shadows, but I often worry that something happened. I think I’d feel it, though. For that much good to leave the world, I’m sure my heart would know.

I’ve kept the same routine this whole year. I walk the same path, go to the same job, live in the same apartment. And every day, I walk past the old Victorian, the maple looming over it with its canopy of fiery leaves. I’d always looked towards the house, only now I do so in hopes that I’ll see a man, dressed like fall, and smiling. When I don’t see him there, I like to imagine that he’s off saving the world with his brother, one monster at a time.

That is, until today.

Because today, I walked the same path down the same road, crossed at the same corner, and just like I did exactly one year ago, I looked up at the house and the maple. Under its falling leaves, standing just where he was the first time I saw him, was Sam. Only this time, he wasn’t looking down at his phone; this time he was looking straight at me. He was a bit thinner than he was back then, and he’d cut his hair a little different, but the smile was the same. I stopped a few feet away, afraid that if I blinked he’d disappear.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said softly, “things got a little…crazy.”

I nodded, “Long story?”

Sam chuckled, “Yea, you could say that.”

I walked over and wrapped my arms around his waist, my ear to his chest, and sighed happily. I never realized how relieved I would feel to hear someone’s heartbeat. “You know what, I have all day.”


End file.
